


Futon

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22536262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Hank wakes up in the morning.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 6
Kudos: 106





	Futon

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Hank’s not an idiot. He knows androids don’t _sleep_. He never thought about what they did during the night. He only thinks about it when he’s just woken up himself, still in a fit of yawns, padding across the hall in just an old shirt and grey boxers. He stares at his groggy face in the bathroom mirror as he brushes his teeth and actually thinks _where the hell is Connor?_

Usually, Connor heads back to CyberLife. Or the new ‘Jericho’ or whatever. At least, that’s where Hank thinks he goes after a case. But last night, Hank got near to passing out before the end of their movie, and Connor had practically carried him to bed. He’d maybe had a few too many beers—can feel it now; he’s got a buzzing headache but thankfully not a full-on hangover—and he can hazily remember slurring out a plea for Connor to stay. He can’t remember what exactly Connor said. But he can picture Connor’s handsome face leaning over him, smooth voice promising, _Don’t worry, Lieutenant; I’ll be right here when you wake up._

Thank God he didn’t mean that literally. If Hank woke up to an android standing by the side of his bed, just staring down at him, he would’ve had a heart attack.

Instead, he woke up alone. He spits dirty water into the sink and nearly doubles over with another yawn. He could really use another few hours of sleep. It’s a Sunday morning—he could sleep in, if he wanted. But he’s too curious about the whole Connor situation. He stops to take a piss, stumbles out into the hall, and then wonders if he should worm back into yesterday’s pants just in case. 

He steps cautiously into the living, half expecting Connor to be standing rigidly against the wall. Sumo’s sprawled out in front of the television. The empty beer cans Hank plowed through aren’t on the coffee table anymore, and his kitchen’s suspiciously clean. Connor obviously went to work before he fell asleep.

Or powered down. Or whatever it is androids do. Hank knows it’s not sleep.

Which is why it’s so weird to see Connor curled up on the couch. Hank does a double take when he realizes that. Shoes neatly lined up by the door but the rest of his uniform primly in place, Connor’s strewn across the couch, head cushioned gently against the armrest. His eyelids are closed, long lashes flush against his pale cheeks. His LED is colourless—just a faint, slightly shiny imprint against his right temple. Even his tie is still on. He looks for all the world like a boyfriend that stayed over too late and had to crash on the couch. 

It’s _adorable_. The last thing Hank needed was for Connor to be even _more_ adorable. 

Hank’s presence must trigger some sort of sensor, because after a few seconds of Hank just staring, the LED flashes on. Connor’s lashes slowly lift, and his brown eyes flicker over to where Hank’s standing. Without any yawns or stretches, Connor gracefully lifts up onto his elbow. He probably doesn’t even have morning breath. A thin smile stretches across his gorgeous face, and he greets, “Good morning, Lieutenant.”

“You sleep?” Hank mutters.

“In a sense. I power down to conserve energy. Would you like me to disable that function?”

Hank shakes his head. It’s too cute to mess with. He just wishes he’d known sooner. He feels stupid muttering, “Shoulda told me—I woulda given you the bed.” Not that he normally offers his bed to androids. Or anyone. It just seems rude to not do it. 

He expects Connor to insist it’s fine, but instead, Connor answers, “I would be delighted to share your bed, Hank.”

Hank didn’t mean _share_ it. But sure. He blinks. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

There was a time when he didn’t think an android could become delighted with anything. He purposely doesn’t point out just how _deviant_ Connor’s become.

Instead, he mumbles lamely, “You wanna, uh... come in now, or...?”

“Are you intending to sleep in?”

He’s actually pretty awake now. But then he won’t have an excuse to lie with Connor, so he decides, “Yup.”

Connor curtly nods. He climbs off the couch and strolls right past Hank, posture as perfect as it was the night before. His clothes are barely even wrinkled. But he diverts into Hank’s bedroom and crawls right beneath the sheets like he was meant to be there. 

Hank sidles in behind him. Hank tries to keep a polite distance, but Connor reaches back to grab his hand. Connor notes without preamble, “I would like to try being the ‘little spoon.’”

There’s no good reason at all for that term to be in Connor’s vocabulary. None of it should be in his program. But Hank lets Connor drape his arm over Connor’s thin waist. He lets Connor scoot back into him and snuggle into place. The LED bleeds blue, back into a pale peach, barely visible. Connor must’ve shut down. 

Hank lies awake until he needs to piss again, just treasuring the plastic prince in his arms.


End file.
